


No Longer A Stranger

by TeaHouseMoon



Series: When You Meet A Stranger [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Angst, Elio goes to Juilliard, Engagement, Homophobia, Love, M/M, Marriage, elio and Oliver in New York, oliver’s parents, they’re engaged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 10:53:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16039007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaHouseMoon/pseuds/TeaHouseMoon
Summary: Sequel to my When You Meet A Stranger stories.Can be read on its own, but probably best if you know what’s happened before this...**Completed.**





	1. Martha

Elio is really, really, really nervous.

He keeps straightening his shirt with a hand. Sees crinkles everywhere in the fabric, because it’s a chilly September day in New York and he had to wear his jacket on top of it.

He hopes his hair is tidy, but he feels as if his curls are refusing to behave, today of all days.

His face feels aflame, and he hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as he fears they are.

He has to meet Oliver’s mother today, and he’s terrified.

 

 

 

 

The day Oliver told his mother about Elio, about them, is one neither of them will ever forget.

A year and a half ago, while Elio was still on a plane, Milan-bound, returning to Italy after spending the holidays with Oliver in New York, Oliver decided it was the right moment - for him, for them - and that his mother, at least, should know. It was a step as good, as important as any other, in his path to no longer being ashamed of who he was and who he loved.

And he’d realised, he didn’t care what his mother’s reaction was going to be. He wasn’t telling her to beg for acceptance; he wasn’t telling her to have her absolution. He was telling her; no other agenda.

He knew she wouldn’t tell his father, at least not for a while - and he was okay with that. In his mind, he would tell him himself, one day, maybe - but he wasn’t ready to tell him now. The issues that lay dormant in between him and his father were just too obvious and heavy for him to tackle all at once, and come out victorious on the other side.

His mother hadn’t taken it well, of course.

She’d been shocked - at everything.

That Elio was a man was, of course, the main problem. On top of that, Elio was a seventeen year old man; a seventeen year old man who lived in Italy.

You can’t be serious. He can’t be serious. You’ve gone crazy, and he’s playing you. He doesn’t care, he’s too young and lives too far away, and you will lose all your dignity and your future because of a capricious child who just wants to have some fun.

All Oliver said was: “I’m in love.” He knew it wasn’t down to him to convince her of this.

His mother had told him he was going to ruin his own life.

He’d told Elio, afterwards, and Elio had been perhaps just as shocked as she had been to hear that Oliver had come out to his mother. He’d been shocked, and worried - and he wasn’t wrong to be both.

Oliver’s mother didn’t speak to him for the next eight months. 

In November, that year, Oliver’s father underwent a minor operation. When Oliver visited, and saw his mother, it was the circumstance which led them to talk. 

That was how they started communicating again; with sporadic, stunted conversations still. But it was fine for him.

Now, more than a year and a half after Oliver’s announcement to her, Oliver’s mother is in New York on a visit, and Oliver has asked her to meet them.

They want to get married soon. Oliver wants her to know.

“This is more about her than it is about us,” Oliver murmurs to Elio, after he sees him try to fix his hair for the tenth time in the taxi taking them to her hotel.

Elio doesn’t know where Oliver finds the steel to keep so calm.

“I want to make a good impression,” he protests, even as he closes his hands into fists on his thighs so he can stop fidgeting so much.

“You will. She’ll still be herself, though.”

Elio knows what Oliver means. They have discussed her many times over the two years they’ve been together.

He sighs, tries hard to mimic Oliver in that calm coldness he’s displaying. When they get off the cab and into the hotel, he’s grateful for Oliver protectively guiding him with a hand on the small of his back.

Oliver’s mother is just like he expected, and also nothing like it. She’s blonde, with blue eyes, manicured hands and perfectly respectable, elegant dress and shoes.

But her expression is not as steely as Elio thought it would be. She’s sitting in the hotel lounge, drinking from a glass of red wine. So weird, because in Italy, red wine usually means a celebration - and Elio really doesn’t think celebrating is what she feels like doing right now.

“Hi, mother,” Oliver greets her as they arrive. “Sorry, we’re a couple of minutes late. This is Elio.”

Oliver’s mother doesn’t get up, nor does she extend her hand to shake Elio’s - and so Elio doesn’t, either. He tries to keep his gaze and posture confident, even as they sit down across from her, and even as she is piercing him with her eyes, observing and certainly dissecting every smallest detail of him.

She watches as Oliver orders lemonade for the both of them - Elio can’t drink, not legally, and he knows Oliver is ordering the same to make him feel a little more at ease.

“How have you been?” Oliver finally relents after a few long seconds of silence.

“Well, thanks.” His mother looks at him, only to move her eyes back to Elio a moment later. “I’m Martha, by the way.”

Elio is kind of startled by that, but tries hard to cover it up. He reminds himself to act confident.

“Elio. Nice to meet you,” he says softly.

“How old are you, Elio?”

Elio wants to look at Oliver but stops himself. He’s sure she knows very well how old he is.

“I’m nineteen, ma’am.”

He can feel Oliver stiffening almost imperceptibly next to him.

“And what do you do?” She continues, her eyes still on Elio.

“I am going to study musical arts at Juilliard.”

Her lips purse, and she reflects for a moment.

“How wonderful for you. You must be very ambitious.”

Elio doesn’t know how to respond to that - it’s not like he isn’t aware of the not so subtle veneer of aggression, even judgement, in her voice, the double meaning hidden behind the facade of praise.

Oliver steps in.

“We wanted to let you know that we’re getting married. We’re very happy together,” and he takes Elio’s hand, interlaces their fingers, “and we want to make it official. We wanted to tell you in person.”

Elio has known Oliver’s mother for only a few minutes now, but he thinks Oliver is being either very brave, or crazy, right now. He certainly admires the guts his boyfriend - fiancé - is exhibiting. But Elio is terrified. He wonders if Oliver should have told her on the phone, or via letter, via a homing pigeon; anything not to see her expression right now.

And yet, she surprises him once again. She doesn’t gasp. Doesn’t raise her voice, doesn’t question her son’s sanity like Elio worried she would - at least not overtly.

She looks at Elio; a long look, before she speaks again.

“Isn’t Elio too young to get married?”

Amongst everything else, Elio thinks, it’s odd that she would focus on that detail. He guesses that’s her way of criticising their decision; just one of the many things that are wrong about it, perhaps.

So he can’t stop himself.

“I know I’m only nineteen but I’m ready. We are ready. We love each other and we’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

He doesn’t know where that came from and the instant he’s said it, he feel his heart skip a beat. He doesn’t know if he’s just made it much, much worse; he’s terrified, of her face, and of Oliver’s, of his reaction - if he maybe went too far, was too forward.

He manages to look at Oliver, though, and he’s smiling. He’s smiling at him. His eyes are twinkling.

And if Elio never has the courage to look at Martha again, he’ll be okay, because Oliver’s smile is all he needs.

 

 

 

 

“Sorry I’ve put you through that,” Oliver murmurs later, when they’re on the subway on their way back to Oliver’s apartment.

They’ve decided they were hungry, famished in fact, and wanted to get home and make pasta. The taxi was going to take too long in the traffic of Manhattan.

Elio looks at the commuters standing by them on the train. Serious faces, happy faces, worried faces.

“Yeah, that was scary,” he sighs, but smiles, of relief. “But I’m glad she knows.”

“That’s what I wanted.” Oliver takes Elio’s hand in his, brings it to his mouth to kiss. “I wanted her to know that we’re happy.”

“Just that?”

Oliver smiles against Elio’s palm.

“And I wanted her to know how in love I am with you.”

“Just that?” Elio says, smiling again as he teases Oliver.

“You little shit. I wanted her to see how beautiful and perfect you are and what she’s missing out on by not spending time with us.”

Elio lets him kiss his hand, watching him, while people get on and off the train. The bustle of New York unable to distract him when he’s so lost in thought.

As they walk back from the station, and hold hands, Elio bites his lip.

“But are you okay?”

“About what?” Oliver seems unfazed by everything. 

“About your mother. About her not coming to our wedding if we get married.”

“When we get married,” Oliver corrects gently. “Yes, I’m okay. It’s her decision.”

Elio wants to ask so much more. He wants to ask about Oliver’s father, and if his mother might have told him yet. He wants to probe more, and find out if Oliver is actually, really okay with it all.

He knows so much about him, and yet, he realises, so little about his family and his past.

And Elio doesn’t know what it means to have parents who disapprove of their son’s choices. He’s been raised in freedom, and in support, he knows. He feels ashamed for having taken it for granted so often.

Oliver is still smiling at him, and Elio just wants to smile back. He can’t bring himself to ask any more, just yet.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Elio loves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think we needed a little smut?

“My hands are too big,” Oliver purrs, a soft, sensual lilt in his voice that reaches right into Elio’s bones and gives him goosebumps.

“They’re not,” Elio retaliates. Oliver’s hand is stroking him, slowly, up, down on his sex, down between his legs, and up again, all the way almost to his chest.

“Your hips are too small.”

Oliver leans down on the mattress to kiss him. Elio kisses back; his palm against Oliver’s cheek, hungry.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Oliver looks into his eyes, and Elio looks back, pupils dilated, dark against the thin green of his iris, turned on as he is. Oliver looks at him while he strokes him, until Elio has to close his eyes, and cry out, when two fingers push inside him. He loves that Oliver is watching, a spectator of the pleasure he is giving him.

The movement inside his body is slow and almost hypnotic - mesmerising. Oliver kisses his cheek, then his throat, then down, to his chest, one of nipples.

Elio pulls his legs up, bent at the knee.

“Please.”

Oliver is holding his other hand over Elio’s head on the pillow. Fingers interlinked. Elio loves feeling that he’s being held down; not allowed to move; at Oliver’s mercy.

“Please.”

Oliver looks up from the nipple he’s licking, and Elio shivers at the look of reprimand in his blue eyes. Still; another finger joins the two inside Elio’s body.

“Fuck.”

Oliver kisses down to his stomach, down to Elio’s hipbones. He watches his own hand move - in, out; in, out. In, and out.

Elio loves that there’s no secrets between them, absolutely nothing held back.

He begs again.

“Please?”

Oliver waits one more moment, and then lets go of Elio’s hand, the one on the pillow.

“Keep it there,” he says - his voice stern like an order, which Elio wants to obey. Not moving an inch, Elio watches as Oliver pours more lube, a lot of lube, on his right hand, all over his fingers. Then that hand goes back in him. Four fingers pushing in.

Elio arches his back, biting the inside of his cheek - pleased, because he’s getting what he wants.

Oliver’s hand is large, despite Elio screaming about the contrary. Oliver pushes the fingers in to the last knuckle, and Elio’s head swims, the sensation so intense that he almost doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Kiss me,” Elio, fussy, demands. He wants Oliver to enjoy himself too; he knows his boyfriend is probably way too worried about hurting him to let go - but he’s not hurting him, it just feels full, a little strange, wonderful.

Oliver kisses him. Deep, with a lot of tongue, when Elio opens his mouth wide for him.

“More,” he begs again when they part. Looking at Oliver as if he’s asking for another slice of delicious chocolate cake, a misture of innocence in his eyes, and the evidence that he knows exactly what he’s asking for.

“Breathe.”

There you go. Oliver just needed a little coaxing. A little convincing that Elio can do this.

He starts pushing his thumb alongside his other fingers. His hand is covered in slick, the quiet squelching verging on filthy now. He leans down again and watches Elio’s face, watches his eyes carefully. And then he kisses him again, an attempt at distraction while his hand does its job. Elio’s back arches again, and he cries out loudly in Oliver’s mouth, his tongue losing his rhythm, breathing all haphazard. Oliver is still holding his hand down on the pillow, back to how they were at the beginning, and fuck but Elio loves this. He wants to escape, and take more, at the same time. He wants Oliver to keep kissing him, he wants to pull his hair, he wants to touch himself at the same time. He’s so hard, he feels he might come just on Oliver’s hand inside him.

“Move,” he orders, petulant and demanding as ever.

“Elio,” Oliver protests - and this time, he’s quite firm. “My hand is as big as your tummy.”

Elio is pretty certain this is not what you talk about when you’re having sex and have somebody’s fist inside you - and yet, he finds it as sexy as any praise, any dirty talk.

“Hot. Fuck.”

Oliver’s eyes glimmer with a hint of laughter for a split moment, but then he gets to work. He kisses Elio’s sex, licks and sucks.

Elio absolutely sees stars.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”, he growls and almost screams, shameless. It’s like his body doesn’t belong to him anymore but to Oliver, Oliver who is playing him like his guitar, like his piano. He loses his mind for a moment, bites his lower lip, moans like a wounded animal until he comes, and that’s when he sees white and all he feels is Oliver’s hand on his hips holding him down. Concerned about Elio hurting himself. Always caring, his Oliver.

 

 

“I’m worried I’ve hurt you,” Oliver confesses after, when they’re lying face to face on the bed, nude, and kissing.

Elio has a huge smile on his face.

“You haven’t. I feel good.”

Oliver’s eyes are concerned, still, and observe every detail of his face.

“You should still fuck me,” Elio says, with a playful kiss to Oliver’s lips.

Oliver’s eyes darken.

“No.”

“What?” Elio smiles again, and braces himself. “You waiting for me to get tight again?”

“You are seriously a little shit,” Oliver, of course, falls for it. He pushes Elio down, mock fighting with him until Elio is out of breath with giggles, and Oliver is on top of him, twining his fingers with his, kissing his neck, and letting Elio’s legs wrap around his waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FuckmeElio asked about something kinky in a previous comment... While I feel Elio and Oliver wouldn’t be the kinkiest of couples (I don’t know why, but I see Oliver as being too concerned and over protective to let himself go in that direction?) I think they’d definitely grow up sexually together - and so this is one of the things I think they would try. 
> 
> Hope you liked it - let me know!


	3. That boy - part 1

“You are a really good looking couple.”

Oliver tightens his hold around Elio’s waist, pulls him in a little. Ricardo is a friend of Elio’s. Oliver doesn’t know Ricardo well, at all, but he can already tell this boy has no filter.

“Thanks,” Elio giggles, kind of quietly, biting his lower lip while his hand goes up to rest against Oliver’s cheekbone. He’s a little tipsy.

“Oliver, wanna have another drink? You really should, we have a fridge full, dude.”

Ricardo doesn’t wait, and goes to grab another bottle before Oliver has even spoken a word.

“I’m fine. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Ricardo tuts. Elio doesn’t see him, because he’s busy burrowing his face into Oliver’s neck, a little bit like a kitten in search of attention.

“Awesome, then.” And with that, Ricardo has already moved on to another friend, going to join a guy who’s outside on the small balcony, smoking and chatting to a couple of girls.

“What do you say, Baby? Should we make our exit?”, Oliver murmurs into raven curls, once he and Elio are left alone in the kitchen.

He swears he hears Elio purr.

“Mmh. Kiss first,” Elio asks, looking up with his eyes closed. Oliver smiles. Of course, can’t say no.

Elio’s arms wrap around his neck, and the kiss deepens almost immediately. There had been a time, once, when Oliver was afraid of being this open in public - but not now. Not now, when he’s at a college party, with kids Elio’s age who don’t really care about who kisses who. In fact, the heterosexuals in the group are few and far between, if he’s read the room right.

And not now, now that he’s told his mother what he wants and what he doesn’t want.

Elio moans softly in his mouth. Oliver would love to take him into one of the rooms, a random room, like he would have done in his own college years, and just give into the want that seemingly always burns inside him ever since he’s met Elio, never relenting as long as he’s near him. But he’s older now. He knows better.

“Let’s go,” he croons on Elio’s mouth, holding his face in the palm of his hands firmly until Elio opens his eyes a sliver and stops chasing his mouth with his own swollen lips. They slip away quietly without saying goodbye - it’s not the custom, anyway.

 

 

 

 

“Remind me why I am in this course, dude.”

Ricardo’s voice comes from behind his arms, folded on top of the desk, face almost squashed onto the fake wooden table.

His attempt at drama is valiant, and Elio smiles, amused for a moment. Perhaps Rick should have enrolled at Juilliard, too.

“You’re studying architecture because your parents will write you off their will otherwise and give everything to your little sister who unlike you is a genius,” Elio chants. He’s heard this so many times already that he can repeat it on request. “It’s your last test for a while. Come on.”

“No. You come on. We’ve been in here for ten hours. Let’s go for a drink.”

Elio rolls his eyes.

“Ten hours? It’s not even been two.”

“Still too long. Come on. I know everything I need to know. Alcohol is calling me.”

Elio wants to protest some more, but hey, it’s Rick who has a test, not him. Elio still has a whole week to revise and he has perfect attendance anyway, he’s on top of everything.

“Let’s just go to the Union bar. I don’t feel like walking.”

Elio nods, absentmindedly. Whatever. He checks his watch - it’s 5pm, Oliver doesn’t finish work until 6:30pm today, he just needs to remember to be home in a couple of hours, they said they would go out for dinner.

Rick’s already out of the door of the library, and Elio hurries his step to keep up with him.

 

 

 

“So when did you and Oliver start your thing,” Rick is asking a little later, his second beer in hand.

Elio wants to make a quip about him calling it their ‘thing’ - but doesn’t. He’s learnt Rick doesn’t always bother with using proper words for what comes out of his mouth.

“We’ve been together two years.”

“Uuh,” Rick says. “That’s a long time. Cos you’re nineteen now, right?”

“I am.” Elio has also learnt that Rick sometimes doesn’t make much sense.

“Yeah. Cool.”

Rick seems already bored of the subject. Elio rolls his eyes, amused, but he’d be more than glad to drop this question and answer thing Rick’s going on here, so he lets it go.

“I think your husband is too controlling.”

Clearly, Rick isn’t done yet.

“He isn’t,” Elio rebuffs. Is Rick already drunk?

“Yeah, I know he isn’t your husband,” the other boy says with a smirk, and drinks more of his beer.

“I meant he’s not controlling. You know I did.” Elio wants to roll his eyes so hard. He watches the other students at the bar with them, chatting and laughing. He wonders if anyone else is drunk and talking shit like Rick is.

“Dude, it seems to me like he is. I bet he’s even told you you’re what... exclusive?”

“I _want_ to be exclusive, Rick,” Elio bites back, putting emphasis on the want.

Ricardo’s eyes go big as saucers - it’s kind of funny to see.

“That’s absolute crap! Elio, buddy, you’re nineteen! Don’t listen to that bullshit - oh my god. I told you you’re hot. And you have your whole life to be boring. You should be having fun right now!”

Elio rolls his eyes again. He didn’t come here to have this conversation. He doesn’t think he and Rick need to have this conversation, ever. Rick is usually fun, and not annoying. Rick needs to stop drinking, and probably go home before he makes a fool of himself in front of all this people.

Elio decides for the both of them. He has to go and meet Oliver, anyway.

“I’m leaving. Wanna go?”

Rick gives him a look, and for a moment Elio thinks he’s going to protest. But then he nods, smiles, and gets up to follow Elio out of the bar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A tiny note just for the sake of realism: I of course have never been to Juilliard or studied in NYC, but I imagined there is a library near both their campuses where students from different colleges can study together. Just go with it :) 
> 
>  
> 
> What do we think of this chapter.....? ;)


	4. That boy - part 2

Elio wakes, blinking slowly, wondering what time it is. It’s Saturday though, and he doesn’t have classes he needs to rush to - thankfully. He grumbles softly to himself, and rolls to his other side.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Oliver greets him, smiling - and Elio can’t help but smile back. Oliver has taken to wearing glasses when he’s reading in bed, lately, and Elio thinks he looks even more attractive, if that was even possible.

“Your phone was vibrating like crazy.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Elio blinks the remnants of sleep quickly and reaches to the nightstand to grab his iPhone. Oliver strokes his naked back with a hand as the boy unlocks his texts.

“Rick, figures.”

“Seems eager,” Oliver quips, and goes back to his newspaper.

Elio sits up, and rolls his eyes again.

“He wants to go to this place tonight. He’s been going on about it for like a whole month.”

When Oliver doesn’t answer, Elio turns around, and wraps an arm around his waist from behind, his face pushed against Oliver’s equally nude shoulder. “Wanna go with me?”

“Mhhh.” Oliver’s response is more of a grunt. He leaves his paper on the duvet and turns to Elio, nudging him down so they’re both lying on the bed, Oliver half on top of Elio so he can look into his eyes.

“You don’t like Rick, do you?” Elio asks, poking Oliver’s cheek with his index finger, playfully.

“I don’t know Rick,” Oliver says. “How do you even know him?”

Elio bites his lower lip for a moment.

“I helped him find a taxi after that orientation party I went to a couple of months ago. He said he’d snuck into a Juilliard thing because he’d always wanted to learn the trombone.” Elio laughs, because the memory of that ridiculous excuse always makes him giggle.

“He seems very... dedicated,” Oliver says only.

“Dedicated?”

“Yes.” Oliver’s eyebrows knit together. “To you.”

Elio frowns, too.

“Yeah, we’re friends!” He says. His voice has a pointed tone to it, and even as he speaks, Elio knows that tone is not warranted.

But he doesn’t like the implication in Oliver’s remark. Rick is his first close friend in college. Oliver shouldn’t be jealous.

“I’m just saying he’s very... constant, as a friend. I feel that sometimes he, I don’t know. Forgets boundaries.”

Elio blinks in disbelief. What? He didn’t think Oliver had such intense feelings about this.

“When did he do that? What are you talking about?”

He sits up, making Oliver pull back and frowning at him even while the duvet slides down to his lap and reminds him that he’s still naked, from when they went to sleep the night before, after making love.

They had a really nice night, had dinner at a really nice French restaurant with Carl and his new boyfriend.

Elio doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so on edge now.

Oliver rubs a hand on his own face for a moment.

“Elio.”

“I need to have my own friends too, you know.”

Oliver looks at him, serious.

“No one said you can’t or that you shouldn’t. That’s not what I was saying.”

“But not everyone has, like, ulterior motives or something.” Elio looks away, taps on his phone nervously, just for something to occupy his fingers with. He wonders if this is what Rick means when he says that Oliver is controlling?

He shakes his head of the thought immediately, as if burned, ashamed of what he’s thinking. He looks back up again, and Oliver is just sitting there, looking at him with concerned blue eyes. And Elio loves his eyes. He loves them more than his own life.

A sigh, and then he sees Oliver get up, pull his lounging pants on.

“No, not everyone does. But some people do. I was just telling you what I felt, nothing else.”

Elio watches him, and hears him speak, and is piqued by both. By Oliver getting up, probably to leave, to go to the kitchen to watch the news or to the bathroom to get ready for the day, and by Oliver standing his ground instead of trying to meet him in the middle. Oliver almost sounds annoyed, too.

“Well, I think I can judge for myself, but thank you for offering to help.”

He doesn’t like the words that he’s just said, but they’re out there now. He doesn’t know if he wishes Oliver didn’t hear him; in a way, he wants him to have heard, he hopes in a reaction. He wants Oliver to lean down over him and kiss his neck and say ‘let’s forget about all this’.

Instead, Oliver gives him another look - still concerned, his brows are furrowed - and then nods, says ‘I’m going to grab a shower’, and pads to the bathroom barefoot without looking back. No invite for Elio to join, like they do so often in the weekends when they have time to indulge under the shower.

Pouting, Elio turns around again, and hides under the comforter, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep for another four hours.

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

Marzia!! Do u think this guy is hitting on me??

 

**image sent**

**image sent**

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

I sent u some screenshots of some texts

 

 

**From: Marzia**

Hey Bijou! Who is this??

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

A friend

 

 

**From: Marzia**

Why do you want to kno? Is it all ok with Oliver???

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

Yes!!! It’s fine!!! But he’s saying this guy is hitting on me and I don’t agree

 

 

**From: Marzia**

I don’t know I don’t think so? But he texts a lot

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

Yeah but as a friend!

 

 

**From: Marzia**

Ok but is normal that Oliver worries. No?

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

But there’s nothing to worry about Marzia

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

I have friends

 

 

**From: Marzia**

Ok ok :) I’m not saying anything

 

**From: Marzia**

FaceTime soon?

 

 

**From: Elio Bijou**

Yeah. Sunday ok? X

 

 

**From: Marzia**

Ok ok xxxx

 

 

The place Rick takes them to is kind of strange, but cool. It’s this bar - night club hybrid downtown, with mismatched, purposely worn-out furniture but a menu of really upscale-sounding food and cocktails. Really hipster looking, Elio can’t stop thinking. But his Orange Basil iced tea is good, and he sips at it, watching Rick and one of his friends doing shots at the counter.

“If the music starts going the house way, I’m leaving,” Elio says when Rick comes to him. His friend smirks, and places two more hipster looking alcoholic concoctions on the table.

“This is called The Frenchy,” Rick says, and takes a sip. “Like you.”

“I’m Italian,” Elio corrects, and takes a sip. It tastes of pineapple.

“But you speak very sexy French, don’t you? Mon coeur!”

Elio laughs. “Lame.”

“Ok then. You speak French to me. It’s much better.”

Elio shakes his head, and goes back to his drink.

“Yeah. I can tell you to piss off, if you want.”

“Where is your amour tonight, then? Why didn’t he come?”

Rick doesn’t miss a beat, and Elio wants to take another huge sip of his drink - and he does.

“He’s home. It’s not like he has to come every time we go out.”

He and Oliver didn’t really speak before he left. When Elio got up from bed, around midday, Oliver was already grading his students’ papers, and Elio just had a quick coffee and went out for a run.

Oliver was still grading papers when he got back, got ready, and left for pre-drinks with Rick and his friends.

It happens sometimes, when they have little tiffs; Elio hates it, hates the silence, with all his might, but also doesn’t like to be the one to break the ice. And he doesn’t think he needed to apologise, this time.

“Trouble in paradise,” Rick singsongs to him.

Elio ignores him. He checks his phone; no calls from Oliver. No texts.

Elio desperately wants a text from him. One full of tenderness, one full of loving words, one of those where Oliver courts him and seduces him and tells him how much he misses him and his mouth and his body.

But there’s nothing now, and so, Elio keeps drinking.


	5. That boy - part 3

They leave when it gets boring, and jump in a taxi to Rick’s apartment along with some of Rick’s friends to continue their night. It seemed like a good idea to Elio, stubborn as he was about wanting to stay out - but now his head is spinning, and he should really stop drinking before he gets sick. He’ll finish this beer, and that will be it.

“Why are you sitting on the floor? You klutz.”

Rick comes to sit next to him, and that’s how Elio remembers he’s on the floor, back to Rick’s sofa, head lolling on the cushion behind him. There’s a nice cool breeze coming from the balcony just across from them, and Elio figures that was as good a reason as any for having huddled himself on the floor. 

“Waiting for the world to stop moving,” he answers, and closes his eyes when the room spins around him again.

“Aw. What a lightweight.”

Elio feels a hand smoothing back his curls against the fake leather of the couch. They’re longer now, and he is sure that tomorrow they’ll be a mess. A bird’s nest that he will never be able to untangle.

“You have nice hair. Hard to find in a dude,” he hears Rick say.

It’s difficult to articulate proper thoughts right now, but Elio’s pretty sure this is utter crap, as always. He must have said it out loud, because Rick continues.

“No, I swear! Have you seen what’s around? All these spikey hairdos, either that or oily and gross. Hair is important.” Rick continues arranging Elio’s hair in twirls on the fabric. “Your hair is just as hot as the rest of you.”

Elio’s brain is in a haze, and he wishes he could just keep his eyes closed and have a little nap right now. But this is also the second time that Rick’s said he’s hot. He likes Rick, Rick is his friend, but he’s pretty sure friends don’t compliment each other’s appearance this often.

“I want Oliver,” is all he thinks to say, in a murmur.

And he does. He wants to see Oliver, he wants to be home with him and curl up with him in bed, safe, with Oliver’s lips pressed against his temple until he stops feeling so tired and confused.

“Oh jeez. Take a break,” Rick replies softly.“You’re too young and too gorgeous to give yourself to only one man.”

Before Elio can even register the words, he feels Rick’s mouth, kissing his neck, kissing his lips. He feels dizzy but freezes immediately, and uses all his strength to push Rick back.

“What are you doing??”

His heart is beating fast - and there’s only one thought in his head - Oliver was right, Oliver was right, Oliver was right.

He feels like he could have imagined it, he doesn’t understand why Rick would act this way - he doesn’t even want to hear what his excuse is.

He pulls up his knees, hides his face into them. The room really needs to stop spinning.

“Thought you liked me,” Rick has the guts to say - he even has offence in his voice.

All Elio can think about is Oliver, Oliver, Oliver.

He fumbles for his phone, hid in the pocket of his jeans. Presses the button for that number on speed dial.

“Elio? Are you okay?”

His voice pulls a sob from Elio’s throat, and he feels like a child, a stupid child, butthere’s nothing he can do right now about it.

“I want to come home,” he murmurs, face still hidden into his knees, he doesn’t care where Rick is and he doesn’t care if he isn’t making sense. He feels sick, he feels ashamed, he feels betrayed.

“Where are you?”

“Rick’s place,” Elio swallows.

“I’m on my way.”

Elio is so grateful for Oliver coming to the party at Rick’s place that time because now he doesn’t have to struggle to remember the address - and thankfully, it’s not far from their own apartment. He keeps his face hidden and doesn’t want to look at anything - he just wants to stop feeling so sick.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but when he feels a presence by his side, crouching next to him, Elio knows it’s Oliver without even having to look up.

Elio feels like Oliver is his knight in shining armour, always, all the time, even when he doesn’t deserve it - and this time is no different. Elio would laugh, and ask how Oliver got to them so quickly, laugh at the person who opened the door for him without knowing what was actually going on. He wants to laugh, bitterly, at the cliche he feels he’s being, and the cliche Rick proved to be.

He doesn’t laugh, though. He sobs against Oliver’s chest, as his lover holds him against himself, knelt on the floor where Elio is.

“Are you alright?” Oliver asks against his hair. Elio manages a yes, because he doesn’t trust himself to nod. He will never, ever drink so much again.

“Good. I’m taking you home now.”

 

 

 

 

“I’m sorry.”

Elio doesn’t know what time it is, doesn’t even know if Oliver is awake, lying next to him on the bed. Their bedroom is dark.

“You should be sleeping.”

Elio lets a beat pass between them.

“You were right about Rick, and I didn’t listen to you, and I’m sorry.”

Oliver’s hand slides slowly up to Elio’s face. His fingers caress his chin; trace his lower lip, gently.

“This was never about me being right. This was about you being safe.”

Elio closes his eyes. Enjoys that caress, the feeling of Oliver’s fingertips, so reverent.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit and like if I move I will puke.”

Oliver chuckles softly.

“You just need to sleep,” he murmurs. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

But Elio can’t go to sleep just yet. He needs to say it.

“I would have never - never done anything. With him. With anyone. He tried but I wouldn’t - I just want you to know.”

He watches as Oliver nods.

“I know it wasn’t you, baby.”

“I want to tell him tomorrow,” Elio closes his eyes against a wave of dizziness. “I’m going to tell him that I would never cheat on you. Especially with a lying faker like him. And then I will block his number, and never speak to him again.”

Oliver nods again, smiling. He pulls the comforter up on Elio’s shoulder, and shuffles closer, so he can hold Elio against his chest.

“I gave him a piece of my mind, too,” Oliver murmurs. “Just before I came to find you.”

“Mmh?” Elio looks up, at Oliver’s eyelashes resting gently on his cheeks.

“I told him to never even dare touch a hair on your head ever again, unless he wants to deal with me,” Oliver’s voice is a rough whisper against Elio’s hair. “I told him that if he wants a boyfriend, he will need to find his own.”

My night in shining armour, Elio thinks. And presses his face against Oliver’s chest, savouring the feel of Oliver’s lips pressed against his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand... Breathe! 
> 
> If you feel like leaving a comment and telling me what you thought, please feel free. I’m having such a shitty couple of weeks (hi, my depression is here again) and reading all your notes makes my day. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this. X
> 
> Ps I have decided I will lock this story to registered users, since one unregistered user was so rude to me. Apologies to all the other unregistered users who were following this - I wanted to give you a heads up before doing this.


	6. Never again

“I never want to fight again,” Elio says, and closes his eyes, to savour the feeling of Oliver’s fingers carding through his hair.

“That’s... out of the blue?” Oliver replies, and keeps stroking.

It’s a chilly night in December, and the couch and a heavy blanket to nestle in are like heaven right now. Elio, lying down half on top of Oliver, his head on his chest, turns for a moment to rub his nose into Oliver’s soft shirt.

“It’s not. I just don’t want us to fight ever again.”

Oliver chuckles quietly, and Elio feels the reverberation through his chest.

“Okay. But you know it happens. To any couple. It doesn’t mean there’s something wrong necessarily.”

“Mhhhh,” Elio protests. He sighs, when Oliver’s fingers delve deep into a thicker tuft of curls.

Oliver breathes, too.

“You looked amazing, last night.”

“Thanks. But you told me already.”

“So?” Oliver uses his other hand to scratch gently at Elio’s side, covered just by a light t-shirt. “You were stunning, I need to keep saying it.”

“It was your book launch. I had to look good.” Elio turns his head a little, to look up at Oliver from his chest, smiling. “I had to be there to chase all your suitors away.”

“So many,” Oliver smiles too. He tugs playfully at a strand of hair, and Elio pulls himself up a bit, gets closer to him until he can offer his mouth for Oliver to kiss, his knee between Oliver’s thighs.

They kiss deeply for a while, and Elio can hear that the only sound in the room is their deep breaths, mingling, quickly becoming demanding.

“But you are my favorite amongst all of them,” Oliver murmurs when they part.

“What a privilege!” Elio quips. He pulls up again and when Oliver starts to tickle him, he tries to pull his wrists back against the sofa cushion. But he’s laughing, and Oliver is stronger, so it’s a losing battle, until Oliver slides a hand under his rump and moves the both of them so that Elio is now under him, with the blanket all tangled in their legs.

“I like that suit you wore, it’s my favorite,” Elio says, out of breath, when the giggles die down. He strokes Oliver’s stubble with a hand. “The jacket especially.”

“Did you?” Oliver kisses him. “I want to see you wear it. Just the jacket.”

“Just the jacket, and nothing else.” Elio’s eyes close when Oliver presses his lips against his chin, down his throat. Up behind his ear. “For easy access.”

“Mmhhh,” Oliver growls softly then, and kisses him again. Elio pushes his pelvis up against his lover’s; feels that Oliver is hard, too.

“Sex? Sex sex sex sex,” he trails off, like a chant, his voice low and rough.

Oliver smirks, but his hand is already stroking down Elio’s body.

“You’re insatiable.”

“Not my fault that sex with you is so good.”

That makes Oliver smirk again, even as he’s kissing Elio’s chest, pulling up his shirt to expose skin.

“A compliment? You really want it, then.” He kisses Elio just over his heart. Elio’s hips go up again, and he closes his fist around a few strands of Oliver’s hair.

“Fuck me. Please.”

“My pleasure.”

And Oliver kisses him on the mouth again, while their hands get busy undressing each other.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter of fluff and a little smut... I left their sexytimes to your imagination >:)
> 
> Let me know what you think!


	7. Boston

**From: Baby Deer**

I miss you

 

**From: Amore**

I miss you too. How is it going? Xoxoxo

 

**From: Baby Deer**

There’s no amount of hugs and kisses that u can send me that can make me feel better :(

 

**From: Baby Deer**

It’s going ok i guess. That girl jen still trying 2 steal my pieces. Boston is very cold and I’m done with Xmas music. We’re in a restaurant now blah

 

**From: Amore**

She’s not worth you getting upset over her. You’re so talented and she knows it.

 

**From: Amore**

And ha. Christmas music. I’m ready for it to be over too...

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Thanks for the sympathy

 

**From: Baby Deer**

But I really REALLY miss you

 

**From: Amore**

I know. It’s only a few more days

 

**From: Baby Deer**

2!!!!

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Why did I think this was a good idea

 

**From: Amore**

Because the shows are part of your course and they’re going to count as part of your grades and you’re building your career and you’re doing amazing

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

 

**From: Amore**

And I love you

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Tell me again

 

**From: Amore**

I love you. I love you

 

**From: Baby Deer**

I love you too more than anything

 

**From: Amore**

I’ll come pick you up at the station on Saturday. Then we can go out on a date? What do you think?

 

**From: Baby Deer**

yes YESYESYESYES

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Where do we go!

 

**From: Amore**

How about that new place you were telling me about in SoHo?

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Ah yes!

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Or maybe

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Actually! I don’t know there’s another one also ughhh I don’t know I can’t choosee

 

**From: Amore**

Haha! No worries, why don’t you think about it? And you can let me know?

 

**From: Amore**

Or I could...surprise you?

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Yes yes I think I want you to surprise me please :)))))))

 

**From: Amore**

On it! ;)

 

**From: Baby Deer**

I have 2 go now or they will think I’m asocial

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Eyerolling right now

 

**From: Amore**

I can imagine that so vividly. Ok baby. Enjoy your dinner. I love you.

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Love you too. I’ll text u later ok?

 

**From: Amore**

Will be waiting. Bye, kiddo

 

**From: Baby Deer**

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write something comforting, it’s short but I hope it makes your Sunday a little better. *hugs*


	8. Date night

Elio knows that it was just Boston and he didn’t go to the other side of the country or the world or anything like that, but he’s still over the moon that he’s back in New York and with Oliver.

He is also super excited about their date, they haven’t had one in a while because the cold weather just kept them cooped up inside or because their schedules were crazy or because of one reason or the other. So once they are home, after Oliver picked him up at Grand Central, he feels like dressing up a little bit, nothing fancy, but he wears his nice silky shirt with his favourite jumper, and those dark trousers that Oliver likes.

Oliver looks good, and he doesn’t even look like he’s trying. Elio feels a little bit high with everything.

Oliver tells him he’s booked a taxi for them, but when it arrives it’s not a New York taxi, it’s a black car, and Elio laughs - not so secretly, he’s excited about that too.

“I just felt like spoiling you tonight,” Oliver tells him, as he opens the door for him when they pull up in front of the restaurant. Elio’s cheeks are scarlet, a bit because of the cold, a bit because of Oliver being all Prince Charming tonight.

The restaurant is the one Elio’s wanted to try for ages, since it’s opened. It’s a fusion of Asian and South American, which could sound strange if not totally wrong on paper, but everybody’s been loving it, everybody’s been raving about it. And the view, from the tenth floor of this building right by the harbour, is to die for.

“This is so incredible,” Elio breathes, as he looks around, and then out to the view, the Statue of Liberty at night, the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance, the dark sea. He almost thinks he can see Italy, as a little dot, far far away.

The food is just as amazing as they thought. They share kobe buns and tempura, and different, interesting versions of sushi.

Elio laughs at Oliver trying all the new things. “It’s a bit like when Mafalda made you try the sour cherry jam. Or when you had apricot juice from the apricots from our trees.”

“You don’t forget those flavors,” Oliver nods, holding Elio’s hand on the table, playing with his fingers. His eyes say something more - Elio knows he isn’t just talking about the jam or the juice. Elio would never forget their first kiss either; or the first time they made love.

When they’re done with their dinner, because Elio won’t stop staring outside the huge window in awe, Oliver suggests they go and see their rooftop terrace. It’s cold outside, but they have little heaters, and they can huddle up in their coats and in each other.

It’s a clear night. There’s only one other couple on the terrace, but they’re all the way to the other side, the terrace is big enough that they can’t even hear them talk.

“I’m so glad I’m back,” Elio says against the lapel of Oliver’s coat.

Oliver kisses the top of his head, the curls which have turned cold now.

“I hope you managed to have some fun, too? It wasn’t all stressful?”

They hold their hands inside of Oliver’s coat pockets.

“I loved it,” Elio says with a smile against the fabric, rough against his lips. “The performances, I mean. But it wasn’t the same without you.”

Oliver nods. Kisses his temple again.

“I’ll be there next time.” He plays with Elio’s left hand still in his pocket with his own; gently pulls it out, kisses the boy’s knuckles.

“I love your hands,” he says, as Elio watches him. “This one. I wonder how it would look. With something on your finger?”

Elio’s breath stops for a second.

“...what?”

And Oliver chuckles softly.

“I don’t know. Maybe something like this?”

He looks really sheepish, as he takes out a little pouch from one of the folds of his coat, or that’s how it looks to Elio, like a tiny, velvety pocket, and then pulls out a small, silvery band. 

A ring.

“Oliver?”

The shock in Elio’s voice makes Oliver smile, a little nervously, as well.

He kisses Elio’s ring finger, lightly, and looks into his eyes.

“This won’t come as a surprise much, I know. But I - just wanted to make it official, and I thought - I actually think, that your hand would look beautiful with a ring on it. My ring. To show that you’re mine, and that - that you’ve said yes to marrying me.”

“And we don’t have to do this now, we can wait a few years, whenever you are ready, I’ll wait however long you need. But I just wanted you to know that I love you, and I will love you forever. And however you need me to. No matter what.”

Oliver smiles, and almost looks shy.

“Elio Perlman. Will you marry me?”

Elio is shocked. Absolutely speechless, spellbound, for a few good moments. His heart is beating out of his chest.

But then, he recovers.

“Yes. Yes!! Yes?? Of course I will marry you! Oh god, Oliver.”

He looks on with wide eyes as Oliver smiles, the biggest smile he’s ever seen on him, and gently slips the ring on Elio’s finger. It wraps around it, almost, practically perfect, the band thin and smooth, with a small blue stone - it reminds Elio of the colour of the Lago dei Riflessi at night, back home.

“Oh my god, Oliver,” Elio says again. “What do you mean it’s not a surprise? Yes you surprised me! I’m nearly fainting here!” He chuckles, and stares at his hand, still in disbelief. His eyes are bright.

And so are Oliver’s.

“Well, I hope it was a good surprise, then,” he tries to joke, too.

“You dork.”

“Now now. Do you want to tell people that you called me a dork right after I proposed to you?”

Elio smiles.

“What can I do, it’s true. You dork.”

Oliver grins. Swallows. And then leans down, and kisses Elio, kisses him.

“I wanted to ask you before Christmas. So that you can tell your folks, if you want, when we go back for the holidays.”

“Good plan,” Elio nods, a little out of breath. His heart still doing somersaults. “My mom will only faint like I almost did. Mafalda will freak. Maybe cry. It will be good.”

That makes Oliver laugh.

“But also what do you mean we can wait? You know I would get married tomorrow. Literally. You know that!”

Elio’s eyes are sparkling now, Oliver can see it so clearly even though it’s dark, the only faint light coming from the lamps dotted around on the terrace.

“We’re not eloping, though,” Oliver grins. “Your parents have to be there.”

“And Marzia, she’s my testimone. You know, like a bridesmaid. But in Italian. Or not really?? Anyway, I don’t care, she’ll be there.”

Elio is a ball of energy now. If he was elated at the beginning, he’s positively buzzing now.

Oliver holds his chin in his fingers and kisses his mouth, red, and plump, like a peach.

“Let’s go? I have champagne at home.”

“Ohhh. You thought of everything!”

“Yes,” Oliver takes his hand. “I was hoping there would be cause for celebration. The whole night. Just you and me.”

“As if I would have ever said no,” Elio says.

And as they leave, he can’t stop smiling.


	9. (Back Home)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TrashForTimmy asked for engagement sex. Hope you enjoy xx

__(“Really? Rose petals on the bed?” Elio says when they’re back home and he goes into their bedroom. His eyes still sparkling, his cheeks still red as his lips after kissing Oliver for the whole of their taxi ride home.

“And when did you even get the time to do this?”

“Remember when we were leaving and I told you I forgot my gloves,” Oliver says, smiling, at the situation and at Elio’s face. It’s incredibly cliche and not something they would do, but anything to make Elio blush, right now.

He leaves and returns with their bottle of champagne and two glasses. Elio, only in his shirt and trousers now, crawls towards him on the bed and wraps his arms around Oliver’s neck.

“Happy engagement to us,” he says, and kisses Oliver.

The champagne fizzes on his tongue, and tastes almost as good as Oliver’s kisses. Oliver takes his hand when Elio starts taking off his shirt. “I want to undress you.”

They do it slowly, taking clothes off of each other in between kisses, and soon Elio has his hands in Oliver’s hair, messing it up, holding on for dear life and pressing his naked body against his lover’s while he sucks on his neck.

Oliver touches him everywhere, kisses his chest and navel and abdomen, sucks him off because that’s what he loves to do. Makes him come like that, laughs tenderly when Elio needs a few moments to calm his harsh breathing after.

Then he lays on top of him, his larger bodycovering all of Elio’s, and they make love, looking straight into each other’s eyes. Oliver watches every expression; every movement, every breath, every time Elio closes his eyes. He watches Elio’s body jolt with every push from his hips; watches him arch his back at every deep thrust. Listens to his moans and cries and then at the end, when Elio is ready to come again, he talks him into orgasm (he tells him his favourite things: you feel so good, so tight, I wish I could spend my whole life inside you, would you like that, Elio? Would you like me inside you forever? And with his eyes closed Elio says yes, yes) and then Oliver comes inside him.

They nap for a bit, but adrenaline is still cursing through their bodies, and so they start again soon after. Oliver did say all night, after all.)


	10. Fiancé

Elio doesn’t even know what’s playing on TV, but for some reason, Carl seems intent in changing channels every few minutes, and keeps commenting on it. Elio figured it’s maybe football? The American version, which he doesn’t understand.

It doesn’t matter though. Because he’s sitting on Oliver’s lap on Carl’s couch, arm around his fiancé’s shoulders, Oliver’s hand on his stomach, and he’s tipsy, pleasantly almost drunk.

He wants to giggle, and kiss Oliver for hours and hours.

“Jeez. Lovebirds, you gonna stop sucking faces soon? I feel like this is going to turn into a nature program any second.”

Elio laughs, throws his head back because it’s quite hard to keep it up right now.

“What does that even mean?” Oliver asks. What the hell.

“It means are we going to mate like, like those animals on tv,” Elio supplies helpfully with another giggle.

On the other side of the couch David, Carl’s guy, chuckles too.

“Really?” Oliver’s face is stuck in between a frown and an amused smile. He looks at Carl - Carl shrugs - and then back at Elio, who gives him a big grin.

So then, Oliver has to agree. “Well. It’s not my fault you are so beautiful.”

They start another kiss, and Carl actually rolls his eyes now and groans.

“Christ! I don’t know what’s worse, you hooking up right in front of my eyes or Elio posting pictures of his ring from every angle and on every social media imaginable for the past two weeks.”

“Oh! Look Carl,” Elio chirps then, and leans back to show his hand to him, with his ring finger clearly in view.

“Ah yes, sorry,” Carl says, with another roll of his eyes, while Oliver laughs. “I hadn’t seen it enough! Do show it to me again.”

Before Elio can wiggle his fingers in Carl’s direction once again, Oliver grabs his hand and kisses his palm, smiling.

Carl smiles too, because under his grumpiness and despite how cheesy his friends are being, he is very happy for them.

“So when’s the wedding?” David asks, taking a swig of his beer. David is British, and his accent reminds Elio of some of Samuel’s friends from London.

“June,” Elio says.

Oliver nods.

“We thought it would be good, when Elio is done with exams and I’m done with classes,” he explains, taking a drink of his own beer as well. 

“And then we can just go on honeymoon to Italy straightaway,” Elio supplies. He kisses Oliver on the cheek.

“What did his parents say,” Carl asks. He’s curious, and to be fair, they haven’t told him this one yet. He flicks through the channels on tv while he waits.

“Ha. Baby, you want to tell him?” Oliver says, with a fond look at his young fiancé.

“My mom was speechless for maybe a whole minute. Then my dad started screaming congratulations! Congratulations! And she joined in and they sounded like they were singing some weird song or something. They were like, that’s wonderful that’s wonderful!”

“Then Mafalda appeared, and they told her too, and she cried. Like straight up cried. Anchise came in and looked so worried, I’ve never seen him worried in my whole life!”

Elio is like a river, full of words coming out all in one breath. Carl is used to that barrage of names for people he doesn’t know, but whom he’s accepted as part of this almost mystical hometown that Elio’s hailed from, he’s not even surprised or wondering anymore. 

“We planned a little with them,” Oliver chips in, his voice a little calmer. “We’ll have to get married here, legally, but we’ll have a celebration in Crema.”

“Great! Finally I’ll get to see this mysterious and wondrous place!” Carl decides, with a clap of his hands.

“Smartass,” Oliver comments, while Elio still giggles.

Finally, Carl settles on one channel. Top Gun is on, and he lets it play in the background, while David gets up to go for a smoke.

In Oliver’s arms, Elio is taking a picture of his hand. Again.

“Another one???” Carl exclaims, literally stunned.

“Yes. I need to post this. It’s important. My hand looks good on Oliver’s shirt.” Elio is so serious, and so intent in what he’s doing, considering the ring from every angle.

And while Carl shakes his head, defeated, Oliver can only smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this chapter! It’s been hard to write recently. I’ve had a rougher patch than usual. 
> 
> I might also have an idea for a new story... let’s see how it goes ;) 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you can xx


	11. Enough

Fighting possibly hurts more now that they’re in this strange lull, this strange wait just before getting married.

It’s over something really stupid. They were meant to catch a movie, spend some quality time together because they’ve been so taken with exams and grading in that busy April. But Oliver had to cancel; a last minute meeting.

It happened twice, and Oliver really couldn’t help it, or he would have, but Elio misses him, and he’s frustrated, and stressed, and he’s jealous, jealous, jealous of the blonde female teacher who gets to spend so much time with Oliver instead. He texts Oliver, ‘whatever’.

Oliver tries to call. Elio ignores it. Oliver tries again. Elio picks up only on his third attempt.

“What?”

“Why are you mad at me?”

“I can’t believe I even have to explain.”

“I told you it couldn’t be helped. It’s not my fault.”

“It’s never your fault, and yet something always happens!”

“Don’t be dramatic, now?”

“If I’m dramatic, then go spend time with Christina. I hope you two have fun.”

Elio hangs up, and sets his jaw, tears of annoyance in his eyes. He thinks of going out on his own out of spite, he thinks of calling his Juilliard friends and going somewhere and not coming back until the morning.

But only ten minutes later, he already misses Oliver. He scrubs a hand over his eyes to get rid of the tears. He racks his fingers through his messy curls.

He misses Oliver, and he wants Oliver to call back, he wants to talk to him, he wants to call him himself but what if Oliver doesn’t pick up? What if he’s mad at him too?

Elio stays curled up on the couch for a bit, feeling sorry for himself. Staring at his phone, accusingly, angry at it for not beeping, for Oliver’s name not appearing on his screen.

Until it does.

 

 

_I  love you. You know that._

 

 

It’s the text that appears, and makes Elio sob.

 

 

 _I love you too._

 

 

_I’m sorry. You know I would much rather be with you right now. It’s not even a question._

 

 

 _I just miss you._

 

 

 

 _I know, Baby Deer._

 

 

Oliver doesn’t have to say much else.

Elio clutches his phone against his chest as if it’s Oliver’s hand instead. He bites his lower lip raw. He feels like walking to the subway stop, and waiting for Oliver there, but he knows that Oliver would much rather know he’s safe at home.

Elio thinks that he’ll wait for Oliver to come back, and then jump into his arms, and perhaps let Oliver undress him and make love to him because Oliver must be so stressed out and Elio just wants him to feel good.

He’s already forgotten why he was upset to begin with.

It ends with Oliver coming back; it’s almost 8pm. It’s been such a long day.

He finds Elio asleep on the couch.

He knows that his young lover has been so stressed recently, with studying and exams and performances, and organising their wedding because he wants it to be perfect, and so he’s tired all the time, and emotional.

He leans over to him and kisses his forehead, softly. He’s forgotten about their fight, too.

“I’m sorry,” Elio murmurs to him as he reaches out with his arms, to wrap them around Oliver’s neck.

“I love you,” Oliver tells him, against his cheek. ”Can I take you to bed?”

Elio nods, and he’ll probably fall asleep as soon as he’s in bed with Oliver. But all he wants is just to lie next to him.

“I’ll make it up to you, and that’s a promise,” Oliver whispers against his hair, in bed.

Elio hears it; but he’s too sleepy to say anything. He burrows further into Oliver’s body; his face into Oliver’s neck. And this is enough.

This is always enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? :) xx


	12. Reasons to celebrate

Elio doesn’t really want to have a bachelor party. They’re lame; he doesn’t need them. His wedding to Oliver is not like other weddings, it’s completely different and unique. It’s their own experience, one he cannot compare to anything other people have done. One with their own traditions.

Still, a week before the wedding, Carl insists on taking Oliver out for a night, because he hasn’t ‘seen him in so long he’s started to forget his face.’

So Elio spends the evening with Marzia, who’s come to visit him for the wedding.

They lounge on the couch, with popcorn and junk food, candy and chocolate and wine that doesn’t really taste like any from Italy or France.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married!” Marzia says, with a big sigh, and hugs him.

Elio squeezes her against his side.

He loves her.

“Now you’re coming up with this?”

“I just can’t believe it, like, every time I stop and think. You’re actually getting married. Like a week before turning twenty.”

Elio plays with her hand. Looks at the red tinge of her nail polish, absentmindedly.

“Yeah.” Its all he can say really.

“Are you not nervous at all?,” Marzia lifts up her head to ask. Elio looks back at her, and bites his lower lip.

“I am but I’m excited. I mean I know I’m young but, it’s what I want. It makes me happy.”

Marzia smiles.

“I’m happy for you, too. Oliver really loves you.”

It makes Elio grin, because he will never tire of hearing it, from Oliver, or from anyone else.

“Thanks.” He ruffles her hair a little bit. “But are we done being serious? I thought we said we were going to talk shit and eat until we throw up.”

Marzia giggles.

“Well, what do you want to talk about?”

“Mmmm,” Elio pretends to be deep in thought. “What happened to that guy you liked that you were telling me about.”

“He...only talked about football and cancelled our date because he missed his mom. Next?”

“Yikes,” Elio says with chuckle. “Sorry. That sucks.”

Marzia bops his nose with her index finger. “Oh shush!” She exclaims, and her French accent pops up more heavily as she says that. “You think this is funny.”

On cue, Elio laughs.

“Yeah. A little bit.”

They switch to French for most of their conversation after that. And when Oliver gets home, they’re still on the couch, still chatting, animatedly, laughing.

Elio jumps up then and goes to throw his arms around Oliver, kissing him on the mouth. Oliver tastes of wine, too, and Elio loves it.

“Ah! No babies!” Marzia shrieks, making a show of covering her eyes not to look at their so obvious and brazen public making out.

Carl comes through the door behind them and walks to the kitchen, holding a fresh bottle of wine they have picked up on their way home so they could continue their party.

“Ah, girlie. I wouldn’t hold too much hope if I were you. They do this shit all the time!”

Elio laughs in Oliver’s mouth. Oliver is still holding him against himself, his arms around Elio, covering his skinny body almost completely.

“Excited about your Italian cohort getting here tomorrow?” Carl asks, pouring glasses of wine.

“Mmm,” Elio nods against Oliver’s shoulder, mouth muffled by the fabric.

“Mafalda is coming too with my mom and dad.”

“Aw!” Marzia squeaks. “And she’s never been to New York, no?”

“She’s never been outside of Italy, actually,” Oliver supplies, gently carrying Elio, who’s still hanging off his neck, with him to sit on the couch next to Marzia.

And Marzia beams.

“So many reasons to celebrate!”

“I’ll drink to that,” Carl says, raising his glass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave me a comment... it would cheer me up a lot! 
> 
> And if you have twitter, come and talk to me on @Teahousemoonao3


	13. Two days to go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The countdown has started...

Two days before the big day, and Elio is a ball of nerves.

He tries on his suit - really dark cobalt blue, with a darker shirt underneath - and looks at himself in the mirror, scrunching up his forehead and narrowing his eyes.

“I look weird,” he decides.

He runs a hand through his hair, and sighs in annoyance at his curls disobeying.

“Piccino, you don’t look weird. Stai così bene!” Annella tells him instead, smoothing back a strand of black hair from his temple.

Across from them, Mafalda stands, hands clutched together. Her eyes are bright, even though she’s tried to cover it up.

“Where? No! I look weird. I look out of place. My jacket is all...all, I don’t even know,” Elio protests again, and looks behind at the fabric of his suit, which is seemingly offending him so much.

He feels so on edge and so stressed out, his hands are shaking. This surely means everything’s going to go wrong; he feels like crying.

“Elio. Amore, calma. Everything is fine. Tell me what you don’t like? I’m sure we can fix it.”

Elio looks at his reflection again and sets his jaw.

“No. No. I want Oliver.”

“Oliver is at his fitting,” Annella reminds him. “And you shouldn’t see each other’s outfits before the wedding.”

“I don’t care about that, I just want Oliver.”

He looks around at Mafalda, who, as usual, has decided to make good use of her time and has started tidying up the bedroom, full of clothes thrown everywhere. She isn’t making a big deal of his tantrum; as always.

Elio sighs frustratedly.

“Hey. Vieni qua.” Annella takes his hand, and sits down on the edge of the bed, pulling him down to sit next to her. With a hand on his cheek, she looks at his face - the red of frustration in his cheeks, the tears in his eyes. She smiles; with tenderness. And then nudges him into her arms, hugs him against her chest.

“Andra’ tutto bene, amore,” everything will go well, my love, she tells him. Elio hugs her tighter, and breathes in her perfume. It always made him feel calmer, as a child.

He lets her dote on him for a while, and tries to take some deep breaths. He changes out of his suit; Annella holds his chin in her hand, and smiles. “Try it again later, you’ll see. You’ll see how good it looks.”

He nods. His phone buzzes, and it’s a photo from Oliver - of the boutonnière on the pocket of his suit. It’s small, a white flower that reminds him of the peach trees in Italy during spring. It makes Elio smile. It makes him excited about their big day again, instead of stressed. He can’t wait to see Oliver wearing his suit, and smiling at him.

 


	14. Together

“Lift up,” Oliver murmurs. He nudges Elio’s chin with his thumb; when Elio obeys, Oliver sinks his teeth into the side of his throat. The skin soft, warm. Still smelling of his body wash, and the cologne he wore for the ceremony.

They got married today.

At the New York Marriage Bureau, down in Manhattan, surrounded by just enough friends and family that it felt like the most intimate, meaningful event.

Elio was worried he wouldn’t remember the words or that he would fumble them, but nothing of the sort happened. Oliver was worried he’d cry, because he was overwhelmed with emotion. But instead, he focussed on his young lover’s green, sparkling eyes; on how happy he looked.

And everything went well.

Oliver leaves Elio’s throat and goes past it, down to Elio’s sternum, placing kisses on the skin there and then moving to his nipples.

Elio’s hands tighten in his hair. He whines, low, impatient.

Kissing in front of everyone, once their vows were done, had made Oliver’s heart soar. He hadn’t really heard their audience clapping. He doesn’t think Elio did, either. His heart was beating way too loud, a result of the officer announcing them officially married, that he couldn’t hear or notice anything except for Elio’s lips, the warmth of his body next to his.

The smile on Elio’s face afterwards had been so bright and beautiful, and everything had felt right.

When they’d finally turned around to look, Samuel was crying. Annella was crying. Marzia was still clapping, smiling, her eyes red too. Mafalda had her fabric handkerchief held so tight in her hand. And Carl was beaming at him.

Oliver kisses down Elio’s chest and his stomach, down to his navel, and the patch of soft hair on his abdomen.

This is the first time they make love as a married couple. There is a tension in Elio, a tiny shaking under his skin, and Oliver looks up at him from where he is kissing his hipbone, the curve of his delicate inner thigh.

“Oliver...” Elio just says, and his eyes are closed, as if he is in his own world.

It’s really late - three in the morning already. They had dinner after the ceremony at the restaurant, in the 5 star hotel they’re staying at. Courtesy of Samuel and Annella, who had insisted on throwing them a reception after the wedding - and Oliver was glad they had let them do it. It was lovely.

Needless to say, there was a lot of Italian in it, and so it went on until night time, and by the time they had cake it was already nearly midnight. They both were exhausted, but so happy.

Elio whines again, and his pianist fingers pull on Oliver’s hair to beckon him up, back face to face with him so they can kiss. Oliver obliges, of course, just as hungry for Elio’s mouth and tongue, and for the moans and breaths that escape him. He pauses for a moment to look down at him, from where he is, laying on top of him, arms bracketing Elio’s body. The room is dark but Elio’s eyes are shining.

“I will be with you forever,” Oliver promises. He makes his vow, again; this time, just for Elio. “I will protect you, and love you, until the end. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

Elio watches, rapt. He’s smiling, and there’s that crinkle at the corner of his eyes that Oliver is so in love with.

“You’re mine, and I’m yours,” Elio promises.

Smiling, pleased, feeling almost out of his skin with happiness, Oliver intertwines their hands on the pillow over Elio’s head - their wedding rings glimmering - and lets his whole body cover Elio’s, with Elio’s legs wrapping around his hips.

They kiss.

They will go to Italy tomorrow. They will spend the summer there. Part of it travelling around for a while: to see Venice, Florence, Rome. Perhaps Capri. Maybe even Sardinia. Part of it, they will be at the villa. Really savouring it, remembering when they met for the first time in person, remembering how it all happened.

And looking forward to their brand new life.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you liked this part of the story too. Please let me know in the comments! 
> 
> I have a new story which I’d like to start. And then who knows, maybe at some point I’ll add more to this one. 
> 
> For the moment, thank you so much for reading and for all your love!xx

**Author's Note:**

> I’m back! Will try to update as often as I can. If you have something you want to see happening, let me know!
> 
> You can also come and tell me on @TeahousemoonAo3 xx


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